


Mockingbird

by barofgold



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 07:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18960433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barofgold/pseuds/barofgold
Summary: Getting knocked up while in prison wasn’t exactly part of Mickey’s five year plan. Then again he never had a five year plan to begin with. However, knocking the teeth out of any motherfucker who tried him had always been on the agenda.





	Mockingbird

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for a while. Hopefully, there will be more parts to it! Excuse my rusty writing. It's been a while.

The new CO had a very distinct _thing_ for Mickey. He knew that it amused Ian more than anything, which was honestly kind of annoying because could this conceited fuck just get insecure one time? Maybe it was a reflection of Mickey more than anything else. Of course, he knew not to get insecure. He had never given him a reason to be.

Anyway, the CO’s name happened to be Michael. Yeah, real ironic.

“What’s that look for, Milkovich?”

Mickey scowled, reaching to rub this spot between the middle of his shoulders but just missing. It was pure torture. “It’s my fucking face.”

Laughing, he shook his head. “You sure about that? You look more homicidal than usual. I might have to put you in isolation.”

The part of Mickey that wanted to behave told him to sit still and stop twitching like a little junkie bitch. The truth was that he really was more homicidal lately, every little thing set his teeth on edge. He was ready to crack like a glowstick.

It took him a second but he breathed out through his nose and muttered, “You should get yourself an SNL gig with that kinda humor.”

“My application is being processed,” Michael replied effortlessly, his eyes drifting away from him to look over at the inmates scattered throughout. He landed back on Mickey, chuckling, “It’s still there.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and threw the canned meat sandwich back down onto his tray. “This sucks,” he huffed. Maybe that was the issue, the lack of satisfaction he found in most things lately. “I’m gonna go get hot fries,” he said, standing with a grunt and taking his tray to go dump it.

“You should really keep that bacteria infested bread for later,” he said as he followed Mickey to the commissary.

Pulling his thin jacket across his chest Mickey ignored the comment and sighed, “You my personal bodyguard now? Is there a fee being taken out of my wages? I bet the people feel great about their taxes being wasted on your services.”

Michael laughed, “I’m sure ‘the people’ have bigger concerns when it comes to their taxes.”

The commissary line was only about a foot long thank god. With his patience running thin and a stomach that was beginning to feel emptier than usual it was hard for Mickey to just stand there and wait. The line dissolved relatively quickly and Dave, the inmate on commissary nodded. “What’s the order today, Mickey?”

For the last forty-five minutes, he had the whole thing rehearsed so it was with little difficulty that he said, “Three Chester’s, a bag of those milk chocolate mini cake things. Got any of the spicy ramen? Great. Two of them.”

“That it?”

“Nah, I want a jar of peanut butter too.”

Dave stared at him for a second before just ducking down to retrieve what was essentially a grocery list and pass it on.

Happily, Mickey clung onto his things and turned to go on his merry way. Of course, his life would never be so simple.

One of the Juan’s from C block sniggered from where he and a face tattoo guy were leaning up against the wall and people watching. “Fuck, man! Look here comes the beached whale. Quiere engordar el pinche.”

The glow stick thing? Yeah, not really accurate. At least that’s pretty. Mickey was pretty sure he turned into some kind of demonic specimen for a second there. “The fuck did you just say? Huh? Say it to my _fucking_ face,” he spat, ready to throw hands.

Cackling, he shook his head. “You want me to say it to your face or your  fucking belly?”

Immediately, Mickey reached into his jacket pocket and lifted the plastic spoon out with his eyes set on the vein peeking out from Juan’s collar. “Milkovich, enough,” Michael intervened, grabbing Mickey by the shoulder and pushing him against the opposite wall while ignoring the litany of slurs and cusses that were coming out of Mickey like a waterfall.

Ten minutes later and Mickey is back in his cell even more irritated than he was to begin with. “When I said I might have to put you in isolation I was joking not goading you to fucking try me, kid,” he sighed.

“You should’ve let me kill him.”

“If you’re gonna be a parent you should probably learn to grow up before the thing’s out of you.”

Mickey scoffed, “Who says I’m gonna be a parent?”

Michael rolled his eyes, “It’s your life. Just sit there and eat your food. Don’t let there be a next time or you’re getting more than a shot.”

  
*

 

By the time Ian got back, there was really nothing left but wrappers. Which he really should have anticipated.

The first thing Mickey said before Ian could even take in the state before him, “I need your help killing someone. I’m too big to do it on my own.”

Ian just stood there for a moment, the only bit of his face that changed was a raised brow. “Okay,” he said after a bit. He paused to take off his jacket and dump it on the top bunk. There was a frown starting to make its way onto his lips as he bent down to pick up the rubbish littered around the cell. “Who am I supposed to be killing?”

Mickey sat up a little straighter, his legs all crisscross upper sauce. “The C block Juan that hangs out with the guy with Hello Kitty tatted on his face,” he wrinkled his nose. “I’ll settle for permanently blinding him.”

Ian rolled his eyes and stared down at Mickey like he was a small child who had misbehaved. “What happened?”

See, some might feel stupid or even slightly overdramatic recounting the morning's events to their partner but not him. If there was even any slight perception that his behavior was infantile it was null and void to Mickey.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “For starters, he’s got a stupid fucking face and he takes up more oxygen than is god damn necessary. If we don’t cull the bitch people are gonna be passing out left and right,” he sniffed and quickly glanced at Ian to gauge his reaction. No luck yet. “And secondly he called me a beached whale!”

Ian blinked. “A what?”

“A beached fucking whale, Ian!”

Ian sighed, “Am I supposed to be reading between the lines here?”

Someone was going to have to pick his mouth up off of the floor. “Are you kidding me right now?!”

“No,” Ian replied calmly. “Are you?”

“Why would I joke about this shit?” Mickey stood up, his hand propped on the small of his back to hold his weight. “You think it’s funny that I’ve got pendejos talking smack about me?”

Ian was starting to get this look on his face. It was the kind that very nearly made his blood boil, there was something so completely condescending about it. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

“ _Dramatic_?” he scoffed. “Was the civil war dramatic? Were all of those murders Ted Bundy committed dramatic? Was the meteorite that crashed into the fucking earth and killed all the dinosaurs dramatic?”

“You do realize that everything you just said is the exact definition of dramatic… and disturbing, too.”

Mickey huffed, waving his irrelevant talk off. “So what? You don’t defend me no more?” He stepped forward and poked a finger into Ian’s chest. “You put a baby inside me and then drop all responsibility? I might as well have fucked a dildo and let it knock me up you’re that useless.”

Ian simply rolled his eyes, always picture perfect calm. He firmly took Mickey’s poking finger and removed it from his chest. “One day I’m gonna fuck the filth out of your mouth,” he said, grabbing him by the jaw.

His pulse did that thing where it quickened.

“But it sure as hell won’t be today,” Ian continued easily, letting go of him and patting the base of his cheek derisively. “You need to chill out. All this stress is bad for the baby. You eat like shit, barely exercise and get yourself into enough trouble as it is. The last thing you need to be doing is picking fights and putting yourself in more stress.”

“Jeeze, thanks. I dunno how my tender ego is gonna handle all them compliments,” he said dryly. “The baby is fine. How about you worry about me for once?”

Ian smiled and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “I don’t need to worry about you. You’re a big boy, you can handle yourself,” he said. “You just need to learn to stop letting shit get to you.”

“ _You_ get to me.”

“I know,” he replied smugly.

Ian then did that god awful thing he liked to do where he got on his knees and put his hands on Mickey’s protruding but certainly not beached whale sized belly. “How’s my baby girl?” His big hands smoothed over it, popping open the buttons on his double XL jumpsuit to reach skin. “Hey little one. Can you say hi to daddy?” Mickey felt ridiculously wisenheimer when there was no movement inside of him.

Ian peered up at him and shook his head, “You can cut it out.” There it was. The betrayal coming from his very own stomach! The nerve. Mickey huffed as the baby kicked and did all but a fucking somersault for Ian.

Smiling, Ian stroked at it. “Has your dad been annoying you all day? I know, baby. He annoys me all the time. It must be so hard for you, being stuck inside of someone who does nothing but bitch and moan.”

Mickey gaped at him. “Excuse  you!”

“This is a private conversation that doesn’t concern you, Mickey.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. I’ll just leave the room then, yeah?” He rolled his eyes.

“There he goes again,” Ian cooed sweetly. “Maybe you’ll be the first fetus to be given a humanitarian of the year award.”

Mickey smacked Ian’s hand away from his belly which made him laugh. He pulled him back in by the waist then looked up at him affectionately as his fingers traced over his skin. “Case and point.”

Mickey wasn’t impressed. “Hm?”

“You’re too easy to rile up,” Ian replied, giving his stomach a kiss before standing again. “How’re you gonna cope in here when I’m released? You can’t be picking fights every other day.”

“Why?” He replied as he sat on his bunk, groaning at how good it felt to relieve his feet again. “What difference does it make? It’s not like I’m getting out anytime soon.”

Ian sat down at the foot of the thin mattress and grabbed one his Mickey’s swollen feet and began rubbing it. He paused to raise a brow up at him, “What is that your way of saying you’re self-sabotaging?”

“It hardly counts as self-sabotage if I’m already fucking sabotaged.”

Ian frowned. “I don’t know why you’re so sure that you’re serving maximum time. You narced to the cops. You haven’t gotten into any proper trouble,” he gave him a look. “Yet. You’re going to be a father now and that means responsibility on the outside and a reason to stay clean. If you lay low you never know what could happen. So why jeopardize it before you can find out?”

Trust Mickey to be part of the one in five men in the world to be born with the genetic malfunction or whatever you wanted to call it that meant he could carry a child. Why did it matter that Ian busted a nut in him and whoops now baby makes three? It wasn’t some magical god damn potion that automatically made him a better person. He already had the other one. Yevwhatever and it wasn’t like he made a difference. Mickey had never been particularly better because of that bundle of joy. Maybe he should have been.

“By the time I’m out of this motherfucker you’ll have found the new and improved man of your dreams,” he said. “This kid is probably gonna wind up some crack-den junkie that’s been in the system one too many times to count. I’ll be a stranger to it no matter what and you’ll have forgotten what I look like. So forgive me for no wanking off to the fantasy of being out on the town.”

Ian was struck by silence. He sat there and filtered through everything that had just been said. After a while and a bunch of anxiety pulsing through Mickey later, he asked, “Is that really how you feel?”

Mickey shrugged and picked up another chocolate bar.

“Hey,” Ian said and moved so he was half sitting on the legs of the other, his hands on the stomach before him. “You’re gonna have plenty to look forward to. Our kid is _not_ ending up in the system. If  you think I could ever forget about you then maybe your ego’s taken a blow since ten minutes ago.”

Mickey didn’t really have anything to say. He just shrugged, reaching out to put his hand on top of Ian’s.

“You need to stop this catastrophic thinking,” he murmured. “You’re having my baby. That means something.”

“Yeah.”

Ian sighed. “Please don’t be like this,” he reached up to drag his hands through his hair. “I know I haven’t always been… the best. But this is ‘I’m off the deep end’ type shit and I need to know that you’re going to be coming back to me.”

Mickey wrinkled his nose. “Right,” he huffed. “So I just sit here and rot while you get to live it up. You live this big, full life and mine just gets pressed entirely on pause. God-- ” he started to sit up but then scowled at the tenderness in his back and lay back down. “I don’t want to be fucking bitter, okay? I want you to do your thing out there. Whatever. Be happy. I just… It’s not fucking fair.”

“I know it’s not fair.”

“Great,” he muttered. “So we’re on the same page.”

“I don’t think we are because you’re still sitting here thinking that we’re not part of each other,” Ian said. “I won’t be out there packing my bags and moving to Hollywood. I won’t be partying and nosediving my way into lines. I’ll be raising our kid and getting a job at McDonald’s probably.” He leaned in and put a finger underneath Mickey’s chin, lifting it so they were looking at one another. “I love you,” he said with so much conviction that Mickey’s heart ached. “And I know you love me. So I’m not going to ask you - I’m telling you right now that you need to protect yourself for me and this baby.”

Mickey was swimming in Ian’s eyes. It was hard to think for a second and suddenly he swallowed thickly and blinked stars out of his eyes, “Yeah.” He cleared his throat and sniffed. “Right. Yeah, okay.”

“Okay,” Ian smiled.  
“And I mean it about our baby not going into the system,” he continued. “There’s plenty of people she could stay with until I’m out. Kev and V have given their blessings. What’s another kid, right? We know that Debbie can keep a kid alive for more than five minutes. We could track down Svetlana. I doubt your sister would be up for it but she’s an option.”

Mickey shook his head and put his arm behind his head like a cushion. “No,” he replied. “I know who I want.”

Ian was surprised. “Really? Who?”

The name sounded baffling coming out of his own mouth even to himself. It wasn’t something he said lightly though and under any other circumstance it wouldn’t even be a consideration but their worst-case scenario was now a real-life situation. “Lip.”

Ian’s face screwed up like he couldn’t compute what his other half had just said. “Lip?”

“Yup.”

Ian just blinked and sat in disbelief for a second. “But… You can’t stand him half the time.”

“You wanted to hear my option so there it is.”

“Okay,” Ian said slowly, still taking that in. “But why?”

Mickey moved his lips from side to side, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “I remember you told me a million years ago how he was frothing at the mouth to be a father to that Jackson bitch’s kid. He’s always been like a dad to Liam… The guy’s an asshole but he’s smart. A shit ton smarter than any of the options you listed and quite frankly, I think even considering any of them makes me lose brain cells. He hasn’t always been good to me but he’s been good to you and I know he’d be good to your kid. That’s all I really want… so.”

Ian was smiling. It wasn’t his usual pie-eating grin there was something a lot more sincere about it. “I agree completely,” he murmured. “I’m really happy you said that.”

“Well. Just don’t go repeating it.”

He laughed, “I’ll call him and ask him to come to visit this week and ask him. You should talk to him too, especially if you want him to be raising our little girl.”

“I don’t know how you’re so sure it’s a girl,” he mumbled. “But I guess… You think he’ll agree to it?”

Ian shrugged. “I think it’ll be a rock and a hard place situation and with a little bit of healthy guilting, he can be pushed in the right direction. Plus, who doesn’t love a screaming newborn?”

“You okay knowing you’re gonna miss it?”

Ian reached out to touch his cheek, “No. But I’ll survive and you’re going to miss a lot more than me so I don’t really have the right to get upset.”

“That’s not true,” he frowned. “It’s your kid too. You get to be upset that you’re going to miss it - her - being all tiny and squirmy. Seven months is a long time.”

“I know. But so is seven years.”

Mickey tried not to let his smile falter but it was fragile. He squeezed Ian’s hand where they both rested on his stomach. “It’ll be okay.”


End file.
